


Before, During, and After

by Anonymous



Series: El's nonexistent nonfics [5]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, Bombed thrice, De-aging, Fluff, Gen, Minor Angst, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Tommy and Wil in another world, Tommyinnit is an idiot, Trust Issues, What Will They Do, Why Does Technoblade Have Three Seperate Character Tags, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is an idiot, no beta we die like l'manberg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Gods can die.Most mortals remain unaware of this information, as the Gods come back to life mere seconds after perishing, but the question remains, where do the Gods go during death? A quaint little cabin, with two inhabitants that seem like they would rather have nothing to do with the divine.Or: Wilbur And Tommy Isekai'd to a Gods & Godesses Au, What Will They Do?
Series: El's nonexistent nonfics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103498
Comments: 23
Kudos: 125
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Survival

**Author's Note:**

> ONE OF MY FRIENDS FOUND OUT I WAS WRITING THIS SERIES ANON AND HAD ALREADY READ SOME OF MY WORKS WHEN I TOLD THEM AAAAAAA YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

It was an era that would later be known only as 'The Great Conflict', in which the Overworld, once unsullied and green, given life only by the grace of the Gods, lay crumbling under siege; earth shattering under the malevolent powers of what could only be called Abominations.

Emerging from deep within the planet's core, beasts, some with hundreds of limbs and distorted forms, some with crudely-wrought armour of iron and gold which could somehow withstand even the mightiest blows from War's sword, these creatures brought only chaos to the then-peaceful world, determined to cause as much destruction and death as they possibly could. 

Even the Gods themselves were taken off-guard by the emergence of the Abominations, the entire ordeal at first feeling like a delirious fever dream, akin to something caused by Innovation's more... exotic brews. One moment, everything in the world was as calm and orderly as it had been since the Gods became Aware, the next, desperate prayers from thousands of worshippers flooding in, to the point of overwhelming some of the younger Gods in the heavens.

The Gods, of course, had leapt into battle. War had conjured great armies to clash against the seas of monsters the Abominations had unleashed upon the Overworld, while Swift, Hunt, Flame, Hearth and Fauna took the fight to the Underworld from which the Abominations and their armies had emerged, laying siege to towering fortresses of vivid red brick, combatting the decaying touch of the monsters within.

The remainder of the Gods stayed in the Overworld, aiding War and his armies with blessings and weapons as they slowly broke through the seemingly endless waves of monsters to the Abominations leading them, with the exception of one.

Kindness, gentle in manner but entirely willing to destroy when she had to, had a greater task. As the rest of the Gods were shedding blood desperately to keep their followers alive, she used the chaos to quietly slip away. She went to a far, far off place that not even the bravest and martially skilled of the other Gods dared to venture to. She went to the empty realm of the Void, to make a deal with its uncontested ruler, but-

As interesting as it was, for ages to come the deal Kindness made would be unknown. It would remain shrouded in the same darkness that engulfed the Void and its dead, floating islands. And no one would know, but the effects of the deal would soon become apparent.

\------

It had been a gruelling battle, and a _draining_ war, but the Gods had finally broken through to the Abominations, past the lines of reanimated corpses and exploding creatures, past the flying beasts made up of fire and souls, and combat deciding the fate of the Overworld could now truly begin.

Survival loathed this war. Even with his blessings, so many mortals under him had perished, and he knew the death count was far higher for some of the other Gods.

He lifted one of his swords, made of a light that shined so brightly it would blind any mortal that lay eyes on it, and parried away a blow from one of the Abomination Commanders, as the rest of the Gods had started to call them.

It was a sickening thing, an eldritch opposite to the multidimensional light that was given off by a God's true form, it was a being that would drive mortals mad from a single glimpse and it was crammed into the corpse of a _child_ wrought in unholy gold armour, purely so it could stay anchored to this realm. The mere thought enraged Survival, multitudes of wings bristling as he continued the battle before him.

So perhaps, it was the rage blinding him. His attention was far too focused on the Abomination that had taken the body of a child and surely killed its soul, or perhaps he really was, as some of the younger Gods liked to joke, "getting old". Whatever the reason, despite his numerous eyes gazing in every direction whilst battling in his true form, Survival did not see the Abomination in the shape of a twisted spider cloaked in shadow sneak towards him, until it had leapt upon his form and pierced him with fangs of darkness.

Sharpened, unnatural legs flew at his wings, missing some, clipping others, and even tearing off an unlucky few. Survival gasped at the pain, and the Spider-Abomination released him only for him to plummet downwards through the air uncontrolled, vision darkening.

He heard a brief cry of "Survival!", half-enraged and half-shocked from his brother in all but blood, War. But the cry was faint, and the Abomination had done something to him because his body felt weak and poisoned and he was fading _-was he dying? Survival? Ironic-_ and he was falling and falling and 

F a l l i n g -

\- and hit his head lightly on a rock as he landed gracefully down on his back. Ow.

_'Wait, what?'_

Blinking dazedly, Survival looked around at the calm, untouched greenery that surrounded him. A lush forest, a scene completely contrary to the torn up battleground of Gods and Abominations that he was in just prior, in which the earth was dead, torn to shreds, rivers of fire flowing among the craggy- _'Fuck.'_ Survival winced, as a jolt of pain shot through his temples, bringing a hand to his head. 

His entire body-

_-his mortal form, he noted, although he couldn't recall making the shift to it, oddly not the strangest thing about this situation-_

-ached, his head felt like it was filled with cotton and his mouth was dry. Survival grimaced, and attempted to use a minute fraction of his power to will away the strange headache, and to stand up-

Only to fall back on his ass immediately, one wing bending painfully at the angle he landed in, and Survival yelped as he shot it outwards.

... _What?_

After several more ~~pitiful~~ attempts to stand up until he finally managed to stay on his feet, (Something he was glad none of the other gods were here to see,) Survival somewhat-panickingly, concluded that for an unknown reason he was unable to access his powers. Turning around and immediately being met with the sight of a friendly-looking cabin made out of logs and stone, he belatedly realised that 'lack of powers' also meant he wasn't completely aware of his immediate surroundings as he usually was. Fuck.

For how long Survival stood there, (certainly not because he was afraid of losing his balance again, certainly not) he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when the door of the cabin opened to reveal a child, almost certainly mortal, with blond hair, blue eyes, and an odd shirt with the sleeves and shoulders dyed red.

The child, too, seemed shocked to see him. His face quickly lost its colour and his mouth hung open in an "o", eyes widening as if he had seen a ghost. Did he perhaps recognise Survival because of his wings? Did he-

"Phil?" The child asked, tentative, as if he feared whatever response he could receive.

Survival blinked. "What?"


	2. Transference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur wakes up in an unfamiliar place, but has to quickly distract himself with an injured friend.
> 
> [TAKES PLACE SOME TIME BEFORE SURVIVAL POPS IN FOR AN AFTER-DEATH CUPPA]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilby and tomathy isekaid into another world, what will they do

Wilbur had been having a perfectly normal night. He'd finished up a semi-lore stream with Tommy and Tubbo hours ago, sticking around in Tommy's chat as he watched the two joke around and get nothing done, the boys effortlessly holding a steady, yet incredibly high number of viewers that still blew Wilbur's mind when he thought about it for longer than a second.

Loose notes lay off to the side of his desk, half-written chords to a song he would never release scrawled over stark white paper. As he stared at them, he pondered over how he should probably throw them out, or try to find something salvageable to use among the repeating lyrics that cut off half-way.

 _'Nah,'_ Wilbur thought to himself, eyelids suddenly feeling thrice as heavy as they were prior the instant he thought of doing something productive, _'Tomorrow then.'_

A quick glance at his desktop clock showed that it was already technically the next day. He shot off a quick 'go to bed' message over discord to Tommy, who was still streaming even though he knew the child had online classes in the morning, before he powered down his computer and leaned back in his chair with a yawn and a stretch. God, he was tired.

Half-heartedly preparing for bed was a quick affair, and after throwing on a t-shirt that Wilbur wasn't 100% sure was a pyjama top or not, he didnt care- he collapsed into bed with the lights off.

The last thought that Wilbur Soot had before he lost consciousness for what he hoped to be several hours, was about some semi-coherent joke narrative that he wanted to twist into the plot of the Dream SMP.

The first thought that Wilbur Soot had after regaining consciousness almost immediately (from his perspective) was a decidedly more coherent _'Oh fuck, I'm falling'_ , before he tripped over his own two feet and banged his head against a hardwood cabinet that he did not recognise in the slightest. 

Sitting there dazed for a moment as his blearily blinking eyes took in (but didn't comprehend) the foreign room he had found himself in, with its dark brown cabinets and marble-looking floors, Wilbur absently wondered if he had been kidnapped. He then, more presently this time, wondered again if he had been kidnapped. It was with a furious panic rising in his chest that he pushed himself upwards off of the cold speckled ground, almost whacking his head off of a countertop. He stumbled, off-balance as light from a nearby window hit his eyes. Something felt wrong, and shit, _shit_ , had he been drugged?

He rapidly scanned his surroundings for any sign of other people before he caught sight of his reflection in the window, squinting before his eyes adjusted to the level of light. From looking at his reflection, Wilbur learnt two things. One, he was in a cabin in the woods that he didn't recognise, which was clearly very bad. Two, he was _definitely_ high, because he looked like he had aged backwards about six years, two inches shorter and all.

He didn't feel like he was high, his mind wasn't sluggish thanks to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he had to be. That, or he needed glasses or- or something. He was probably drugged and he was in a place he didn't recognise and he looked so _young, why did he look so young he ju-_

The oncoming probable-panic attack that would've likely been a hindrance to getting out of _wherever the hell he was_ was quickly offset by a scream. Loud, pained, and certainly not sourced from an adult. Wilbur's heart sank as the thought of not being alone in the potential murder-cabin crossed his mind. There was a kid here. Oh god there was a kid here. He looked around for anything he could use if he was going to investigate and- there.

He took action, grabbing a long, sharpened kitchen knife with a wooden handle off of the countertop, and in hindsight _wow_ he was lucky he hadn't hit off that on his tumble down. 

There was only one door from the kitchen and Wilbur passed through it swiftly, knife held in a protective grip in front of him in case anyone tried to jump him. The living room, if that was what it was, was equally as unfamiliar to Wilbur as the kitchen had been, and not only that, but the entire place seemed incredibly old-fashioned, patterned couches oriented around an inactive fireplace rather than any form of television. He shook his head. Focus.

The rest of the house seemed equally as old-fashioned, but Wilbur was only paying half a mind to it. He could hear faint crying, desperate sobs coming from a kid that were nearly inaudible, like the child was genuinely scared of the possibility someone could find them. He moved quicker.

Eventually, he found himself outside of a dark brown wood door. There was a little wooden plaque hung up on it, a lighter shade with white writing in a language Wilbur didn't know, but very vaguely recognised. Not the time to consider the fact he might be in a foreign country on top of everything. Clutching the knife tightly in the off-chance someone tried to jump him, Wilbur slowly cracked open the door. 

He was met with the sight of a decorated room, and the stench of both carved wood and blood. The pale wood floor was almost glowing, reflecting light that came streaming in through bright red curtains. Underneath those same curtains, curled up into a tight ball with a toppled stool next to them, was a kid dressed in a red and white shirt that reminded something in the back of Wilbur's head of Tommy. The kid was sobbing into their arms, one hand clutched tightly to their chest, and squinting his eyes a bit Wilbur could see bloodstains on the front of the kid's shirt where the hand was held. God, they were like, ten. A bloody whittling knife and a shoddily-made wooden statuette were scattered across the floor of the room 

Clearing his throat a bit and wincing as the kid did a full-body flinch before silencing almost completely, small sobs shaking their- his? Wilbur wasn't one to assume gender but the kid looked like a he- frame the only indicator that the kid hadn't stopped still fully.

"Excuse me?" Wilbur said in the one voice adults put on when talking to scared children. Or at least, he hoped it was. "Are you alright?" He asked.

The kid's head shot up, blue eyes that had turned red and puffy from tears squinting desperately against the light in the room, and Wilbur finally got a good look at the kid's shocked face, and his short blond hair, and-  
No way.

Wilbur felt flat-footed and caught off guard, as well as a teeny bit stupid seeing as he hadnt considered the possibility of dreaming, (It couldn't be a dream, everything felt far, _far_ too real,) as he stared into the face of ten-or-eleven year old Tommy fucking Innit, who was staring right back at him with the same disbelief Wilbur knew to be mirrored on his expression. "Wilbur?" Tommy asked through tears he seemed to be trying to halt, voice hoarse and _young_.

"Yeah, Toms?" Wilbur responded shakily, defaulting to nicknames and casual banter to try and deal with the fact his brain had completely blanked.

Tommy inhaled, before attempting to put on a pained expression that looked like an attempt at a smile. "I'm bleeding very badly, Wil." Tommy told him, voice a false-steady, false-calm, his shoulders were tense as if he were physically trying to stop himself from crying and he was _ten_ -

Wait. Bleeding.

"Fuck." Wilbur said. Tommy nodded in agreement, solemn, and the atmosphere continued on tense like that for a few more seconds before the shock of the situation _twisted_ it into humour, Tommy bursting out into pained, incredulous laughter, Wilbur joining him almost immediately afterwards, the both of them holding a hysterical and stressed note in their giggles but honestly what else could they _do?_

"S-Seri- seriously though," Tommy spoke through guffaws, "I am bleeding."

"Right," Wilbur nodded, and tried to halt the shuddering chuckles that crawled up his throat. "Right."

There was a pause.

"OH FUCK, TOMMY YOU'RE BLEEDING!"

Tommy's response was a pained but meaningful shriek as he went right back to clutching his hand to his definitely-bloodied shirt, oh jesus christ that was a lot of blood. Wilbur dropped the knife and let out a mild curse under his breath as it bounced oddly off the floor and almost hit his leg, before turning his attention right back to Tommy.

"Stay right here!" He yelled as he spun on his heel, intent on searching the odd house for something to help, "I'm going to get something to bind it!"

He didn't bother to pick the knife up from where he had dropped it in the doorway to the room Tommy was in, because at this point he was certain that he was either dreaming or fully capable of decking anyone that tried to come at him with the sheer amount of adrenaline currently flowing through him. 

Wilbur ran back to the kitchen, because he always kept bandages in the kitchen and- jesus christ this wasn't his house, right. 

He almost tripped over his own feet as he skidded on the loose carpet at this sudden realisation of already-known facts, before continuing his journey to the kitchen, because that's where most people kept medical supplies, right? Whoever owned this place had to be at least somewhat reasonable.

As Wilbur reached the kitchen, he checked the first place he could think of for medical supplies, a wall-bound cabinet just far away enough from the main countertop that it likely did not contain food. Opening it up, he was met with the sight of something that was obviously a first-aid kit, with an odd looking red cross/caduceus staff mix of a symbol that he didn't recognise emblazoned onto the front. Huh.

Pausing a moment in surprise that the first place he looked was right, and adding a little check to the category of 'This Is A Dream' inside his brain, Wilbur blinked before he reached into the cabinet and grabbed the first-aid kit, cracking it open. It had bandages, which was pretty much the only thing he could recognise inside among various bottles of liquids marked in the same language that had been on the plaque on Tommy's door. But that didn't matter, because bandages were all he needed.

Shutting the kit and sprinting back through the living room and hallway, he did trip on the carpet this time. Yelling a loud "FUCK!" as he picked himself up and checked to see if the bottles had broken and rendered the bandages potentially unusable. They hadn't, great.

Returning to the room he was met with an onslaught of half-hysterical curses, Tommy clearly having moved past the sobbing-then-laughing phase of dealing with pain, and onto the swearing-uncontrollably one. He was learning so much about how Tommy dealt with injury today, something he had never wanted to know.

"Tommy," he said as he approached the cussing teen-- child. "TOMMY!" He repeated, farjust louder once he saw the blond wasn't shutting up.

"Fuck you!" The injured brat yelled right back at him, matching his volume.

"Tommy just give me your fucking arm!"

"Fine!" He shouted, shoving his injured hand at Wilbur with a visible wince, and a wave of dizziness passed through Wilbur's head at the sight of the sheer amount of blood, jesus christ didn't Tommy have low blood pressure? Was he okay? Was he going to get an infection from this did Wilbur have anything to _clean the wound with were there even any medicines in this house what if Tommy got sick because he did a shoddy job at bandaging the wound what if-_

"Wilbur!" Tommy half-shrieked at him, voice shriller than Wilbur had ever heard it, probably because he was a fucking infant right now and wait, did kids get sicker easier? Jesus, could Tommy- "Hurry up!"

Wilbur snapped back to reality from the panic clouding up the inside of his head, and realized he hadn't so much as began to bandage Tommy's hand, the thing still bleeding sluggishly from a very large, deep-looking cut that stretched from the top of his palm all the way to his wrist, just barely missing several arteries Wilbur knew would have worsened this situation. Loose skin hung around the cut, covered in blood. He set to work bandaging Tommy's hand, swearing silently to himself that he would either wake up or have a breakdown _later_.

Wilbur worked in silence, the sun shining down onto the two from the window behind Tommy. Once or twice Tommy twitched his hand or shifted, but a quick word from Wilbur and he stopped trying to move his arm. The whole process didn't take long but the silence in between the moments of panic felt like it stretched for an eternity. Eventually, however, Wilbur was done, and he let go of Tommy's hand with a stern "Don't move it too much."

Tommy withdrew his arm, staring at it, and moved his fingers slightly, wincing at the slight shoot of pain that came with the action. Dropping his hand carefully to the side, he looked back up at Wilbur, eyes almost normal with a slight hint of redness being the only sign that he had been crying from the pain earlier.

"Thanks, Big Man," he grinned up at Wilbur, before his face shifted into something more puzzled "Hey," he said, "Why do you look like a fuckin' baby?"

Wilbur blinked, incredulous. "Are you fucking _kidding me,_ Tommy," he punctuated the statement with a swing of his hand, "Have you even _seen_ yourself, child."

Tommy stared at him.

Wilbur stared back.

"What the fuck are you on about, Wil?"

Wilbur face-palmed with the hand he had been using to stabilise his crouch in front of Tommy, and promptly fell onto his ass because of the action. Tommy barked out a laugh that the brunet ignored as he rose from the ground and took his first actual look around the room now that he wasn't distracted by a screaming ten-year-old.

It was a bedroom, decorated in pale colours with large swathes of red highlighting the place. The bed was single-person and fit for a teen maybe, but not an adult, and there were various painted carvings scattered about the shelves, some hanging from them. There was a small scattering of books atop a desk in a far corner, and the desk itself looked to be an exact match to the stool Tommy had been sitting on before falling.

The image that was being painted in Wilbur's head was one he wasn't quite sure he liked, as he realised that despite noting the hallways and living room were old-fashioned, he hadn't looked further for signs of life that weren't 'this is a house, people probably live here.' He hadn't looked for belongings, like scribbled music notes, or instruments.

Somewhat childishly, (although he certainly deserved to be childish after the amount of stress he had just experienced, witnessing Tommy bleeding from a nasty wound,) Wilbur shelved that realisation in favour of spotting a wooden-framed mirror lying atop a chest of drawers. Getting up, he strode over to it with confidence and picked it up with a slight flourish.

"Wh-what do you have there?" Tommy asked, still giggling slightly at Wilbur's balancing misfortune.

Turning, he aimed the mirror at the blond, stepping forward a bit so that he could see clearer.

Tommy, getting the message, looked into the mirror.

And kept looking.

And scrunched his face in the same way he always did when he was confused, making him look angry and slightly constipated.

"What the fuck?" He asked, looking back up at Wilbur with furrowed brows.

"It's a mirror, child." Wilbur sighed, a slight lightness in his heart as he slipped back into the familiar banter he had with Tommy, despite the completely unfamiliar circumstances.

"Wha-" Tommy choked on his words, and also visibly looked like he was choking, which was strange, "What? I'm a child and shit! What the FUCK, Wil!?"

"Tommy, did you not notice the fact your voice is way higher? What did you even think that was?"

"Reverse Puberty." The blond didn't even hesitate with the quip, straight-faced as he looked right back up at Wilbur, and Wilbur-

"Pffffftahaha!" He laughed, because yes, this was definitely Tommyinnit, and Tommy joined him in losing it like they had when Wilbur had first come into the room. His signature laughter sounded strange when it came from a ten-year-old kid.

Wilbur knew that this moment wouldn't last forever, where his sides hurt and he was laughing along with Tommy, who was still in bloodied clothes, in a house neither of them were familiar with and yet the house seemed all too familiar with them.

But for now, just for a few seconds, maybe he could pretend that he was on a discord call, or even doing a repeat of the meet up.

For now, maybe he could pretend that everything was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People laugh when shocked right? Thats not just a me thing?
> 
> Also hoooooo ive been gone a couple days oops

**Author's Note:**

> Heres a list of the Gods, if someone isn't here thats because I'm unsure on how they'd fit in. Some of these fuckers might not even show up, so no promises.
> 
> Gods-  
> Phil- Survival  
> Techno- War  
> Dream- Swift  
> George- Hunt  
> Sapnap- Flame  
> BBH- Hearth  
> Antfrost- Fauna  
> Fundy- Cunning  
> Niki- Kindness  
> Schlatt- Vengance  
> Sam- Innovation  
> Tubbo- Nature  
> Ranboo- Memory (Cant decide if Ranboo should be a god or somethin else. Hmmmm.)  
> Eret- Ambition  
> Quackity- Mimicry  
> Karl- Time  
> Skeppy- Challenge  
> Purpled- Space  
> Hbomb- Communication  
> Connor- Neutrality  
> Drista- Trickery  
> CaptainPuffy- Loyalty  
> Punz- Trade


End file.
